


Crowned in Glory

by GoldenTruth813



Series: Royal Splendor [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Deepthroating, Devotion, Engagement, Established Relationship, Galra Keith (Voltron), Insecurity, Intimacy, King Shiro (Voltron), Loud Sex, M/M, Marriage, Noisy Shiro, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, Top Keith (Voltron), Topping from the Bottom, Trust Kink, Worthiness Kink, brief mentions of past violence, possesive keith, royal kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: On the eve of their marriage, Keith begins to doubt how fit he is to be King consort. Shiro helps him see his worth.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Royal Splendor [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041101
Comments: 57
Kudos: 243





	Crowned in Glory

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't leave this AU alone. This is meant to be a follow up to Forever Yours but can honestly be read as a stand alone.
> 
> All my love and gratitude to leandralena for being a wonderful beta

Keith’s in the weapons room when the knock sounds. A loud, echoing boom against the solid, wooden door. As an extra precaution, Keith had locked himself into the expansive tower to examine the weapons personally.

The weapons room is his second favorite room in all the Kingdom—the first being the one he shares with Shiro. It’s also a room that is rarely frequented by anyone else and as such Keith ignores the knock. The only person who knows he's in this room is Shiro and he’s currently occupied in a dull meeting about linen trades. 

Keith’s on the floor, surrounded by the new delivery of luxite blades—forged in the flames of the black mountain and personally hand delivered by an envoy from the Blade of Marmora, just that morning. It’s a new alliance for Shiro’s kingdom— _their_ kingdom, Shiro often reminds him). The suggestion of an alliance was an unexpected olive branch, offered by the secretive Blades, after Keith’s betrothal to the new King was announced the week after his coronation. No one knows much about the Blades of Marmora, except that they split from the Kingdom of Daizbaal long before the war with Shiro’s Kingdom and retreated to the mountains where they protected their weaponry knowledge with iron fists. As far as Keith knows, not a soul has come in or out of the mountain since before he was born.

Had it been left up to Keith, they would’ve burned the offer the moment it was laid in Shiro’s hands. While the Blade of Marmora might not have been the same Galra who hurt Shiro, they didn’t come to his rescue either. That had been Keith, and Keith alone who’d saved Shiro and Keith has never forgiven them for it. Admittedly he can’t prove the Blade’s were aware of Shiro’s captivity, but considering their skill and knowledge he highly suspects that they did. Anger and resentment are two of Keith’s many faults—he’s too reactive and can hold a grudge like no one else. Then again, Keith’s propensity to distrust is also one of his greatest attributes and will keep his King safe. Shiro’s heart is too big, and Keith will protect him at all costs, regardless of the social impact.

The offer of a new alliance had not, much to Keith’s chagrin, been thrown into the fire. Only Shiro’s ability to remain calm during times of stress—and his ability to manage Keith’s temper—had led to the acceptance of the alliance. Not for the first time, Keith is reminded of why Shiro is so much better at diplomatic matters than Keith. Despite Keith’s apprehension it’s an alliance which is proving to be more fortuitous with every passing day. 

In the short few weeks since gaining the Blade of Marmora as an ally, they have done much to prove their loyalty—including providing a crate of weapons worth more than its weight in gold, as a wedding gift. A gift Keith immediately hand delivered to the armory to unpack and inspect—and take the first pick from the best blades, with which to protect his beloved. 

Keith’s learning day by day, that he’s not the only Galra eager to see Shiro’s throne remain strong and steady and as he turns a sword in hand he marvels at the lightness for a blade of such substantial size. Keith’s skill with a blade is unmatched and he knows he could protect Shiro with any blade, but _this_ is something else. He rises, swinging the blade through the air with ease, unable to stop the rush of euphoria he feels.

The knock sounds again, hesitant in force, but insistent in frequency. Whoever is on the other side of the door is not one of the King’s guard, or they’d have barged in already, permission or not. 

“What is it?” Keith barks, blade still in hand, as he swings the heavy wooden door open. He clears his throat when he sees who is standing before him—a young page no more than ten years old looking absolutely terrified. “Oh, hello.”

“I’m sorry to interpret your business, your royal consortship sir, or um...future King consort and um...um—” the poor boy breaks off, eyeing the blade in Keith’s hand with no small amount of unease. 

Keith looks down and realizes what a picture he must make—he’s filthy and sweaty from the exertion of carrying the heavy crate up here himself, and his hairs a mess. Then again it might just be the massive three foot blade he’s holding in his hand that has the poor page looking like he wants to run away.

“You may call me, Keith,” he offers, trying to put the boy at ease as he deposits the sword onto a table beside him. This does not have the desired effect.

“No, sir. I most certainly may not,” the page squeaks, as if the suggestion has personally affronted him. “As the future King consort, I could never dishonor my King by refusing to honor his betrothed.”

Keith almost laughs, then wonders if that’s how he sounded all those times Shiro all but begged Keith to use his given name. Shiro is an infinitely more good and patient man than Keith.

“Alright then. What can I help you with?”

The boy stands straight, puffing out his chest. The gold embroidery of the lion crest for the Shirogane family shimmers on his velvet tunic as he clears his throat. “His most honorable and esteemed royal highness, Takashi Shirogane of the house of Shirogane—”

“I know who the King is,” Keith interrupts, fighting off a smile. “This your first time?”

“The King gave me the message _himself_ ,” the boy whispers with a nod. “He talked to me personally. My mom is going to be so proud. Imagine the King talking to _me_ ,” he says looking like he might faint. He takes a step closer to Keith, darting his eyes around as if to make sure they’re alone before whispering “He even smiled at me.”

Keith understands his awe all too well. All these years since they met and he too, often feels just as awed when Shiro smiles at him. There’s something in him that inspires loyalty—that makes you want to be better. 

Before Shiro, Keith didn’t believe a man alive worthy of being a King—of lording over others. Shiro is worthy. 

Shiro has a natural ability to make people feel safe—feel important—and his people reward that with a level of loyalty and devotion that Keith’s never seen before. Growing up in Daizbaal, Keith was used to bearing witness to Kings who ruled with fear. Shiro could do that now, he’s certainly strong enough and smart enough. Yet where others might pick the path of least resistance, Shiro has always followed his own path; leading, not with ease but with conviction, and most especially compassion and kindness. It’s what drives the people to love their King fiercely.

He can see that level of devotion and awe reflected right now in the page’s wide eyes. Can see that in one simple act of kindness, Shiro gifted yet another person the feeling of being seen, of mattering. Keith can’t blame the kid for being overwhelmed. The first time Shiro looked at Keith like that, he’d torn his homeland apart to set Shiro free and never looked back—devoting himself to Shiro, heart and soul. Not a day has gone by where Keith doesn’t feel renewed conviction in that choice, every time he lays eyes on him.

“The King requires your presence in the throne room,” the page says, looking decidedly nervous. “Right away.”

Despite his curiosity, Keith knows better than to ask why. Whether a matter of personal or state matters, Shiro would not have told the boy why he wanted Keith. Shiro’s good at making people feel important—making them feel trusted—but the truth is, Shiro is fiercely private. The people of the Kingdom only know what he desires them to know about him, which is often the bare minimum. 

“Of course,” Keith says, wiping his dusty hands on his trousers. “Thank you.”

The page nods then turns, walking away slowly. The second he’s out of sight Keith can hear his small feet echoing on the floor as he begins to run. 

Once he’s sure he’s alone, Keith wastes no time repacking the blades as carefully, but swiftly as possible. He’s just placing the last one on top of the crate when something nags at him—an unexplainable need to _keep_ this one. It’s smaller than the rest, just the length of Keith’s forearm, but there are purple jewels encrusted in the handle and the blade seems to glimmer as Keith picks it up and turns it in hand. 

He can’t explain how or why he knows, but the certainty that _this_ Blade is his, is undeniable. 

There’s something engraved on the hilt—an ancient Galran dialect Keith is unfamiliar with—and Keith resolves himself to have a private word with the visiting Blade dignitaries, as soon as possible. Well, as soon as possible _later_. 

For now he shoves his questions aside, sheathing the blade at his hip and locking the weapons room behind him as he heads out in search of his King.

It takes Keith a good ten minutes to make his way down from the highest tower and across the courtyard, back into the entryway leading to the throne room. Keith’s barely got one foot into the castle walls when he stops dead, his heart stuttering in his chest.

 _Flowers._ Everywhere he looks the room is adorned in flowers. There are wreaths of violets hanging from the doors and swags of aromatic herbs—fennel, rosemary and sage—adorn the aisle. All around him people bustle about with arm loads of linens and flowers. Objectively, Keith knew there were preparations for tomorrow's ceremony taking place around the castle, but knowing it to be true and seeing it first hand, are two entirely different things. 

Shiro’s coronation a few months prior had been a lavish affair, but it was nothing compared to this. 

The splendor of spring abounds as Keith spins in circles to take it in from every angle. Everywhere he looks, the castle has been adorned with signs of their impending marriage. From the tables overflowing in the hall with the bounties of the recent harvest—bowls of pomegranates, wild strawberries and pears and on every table, along with vases of fragrant violets and tapestries of purple and gold hung from the arches. 

Keith suddenly feels entirely underdressed as he inches further inside, though none of the servants spare more than a glance or a smile in his direction. Everyone knows who he is and his place in the hall is not questioned, even if he currently resembles one of the stable boys rather than the future King consort. Keith belatedly wishes he’d paused to refresh himself in their chambers, had he realized what he was to be walking into. He should have realized, it’s not like he isn’t fully aware of what tomorrow is. Somehow between the commotion of the Blades arrival and his own nerves about becoming royalty, Keith has spent very little time thinking about the actual ceremony.

He’s thinking about it now as he walks towards through the open doors and into the hall, his breath catching in his throat as he gets an even closer view of the room. It’s clear no expense has been spared—richly colored silk runners are on every table. Even more fragrant wreaths hang below each of the newly restored stained glass windows, which are casting a sea of rainbows across the floor. Keith’s never actually seen the sea outside of photos from the books in the castle library, but Shiro talks fondly of a childhood summer spent at a family estate by the sea, before the death of his parents. The shifting light that flickers across his boots makes Keith imagine a time where the Kingdom is secure enough, that he might one day be able to arrange to take Shiro back there.

Just thinking of his beloved invokes a rush of emotion that is magnified tenfold when Shiro himself walks into the hall. He’s unaccompanied, which is a good thing because Keith is quite certain he must be making quite a fool of himself as he stumbles, leaning against the closest table and inhaling the heady scent of freshly picked flowers and aromatic fruit as he stares at his future husband.

Shiro is dressed even more richly than usual—a fortuitous consequence of all the dignitaries and royals who’ve been arriving for their wedding. Not that Keith doesn’t admire Shiro in anything and everything he wears—or nothing at all when Keith is lucky enough. Still the sight of Shiro in all his regal splendor is a sight to behold indeed. He’s wearing his coronation crown—a substantial thing of cold rubies that makes his starlight hair almost seem aglow. His clothing is equally as bold—perfectly shined boots that rise to the knee and trousers that looked painted on in a lush silk fabric. His tunic is equally as tight, something form fitting with enough buckles to make Keith sweat, and a deep golden caplet that highlights the expansive width of his shoulders and his more than generous size.

As he nears, his boots clank against the tile floor, and all around them people turn to stare and whisper. Shiro though, only has eyes for Keith. It makes the fluttering sensation in his chest magnify and he’s unsure how he’s going to stand in this room tomorrow and listen to Shiro pledge himself to Keith and not end up crying.

“There you are,” Shiro says, eyes lighting up as if Keith’s presence is the highlight of his entire day. “I missed you.”

“We shared breakfast together,” Keith breathes, heart now thudding so forcefully it steals his breath away.

“Exactly. It’s been ages since I last saw your beauty.”

It’s hardly been that long, but Keith too feels the ache of Shiro’s distance when they are apart— a rarity thankfully.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith exhales, shoulders slumping forward as a kiss is pressed to the top of his head. 

“Always so humble when you’re clearly the most beautiful thing in this entire castle.”

Heat floods Keith’s body, but he doesn’t protest. There are too many people bustling around the room and though they’re all pretending not to listen, Keith knows first hand they are all definitely listening. The things Keith longs to say about Shiro’s beauty are for Shiro’s ears and his alone.

“I’m a mess,” Keith utters, tilting his face up so that Shiro will kiss him again. He does, warm lips pressed to Keith’s in a kiss so gentle it makes Keith ache.

“You are perfect,” Shiro assures him, his left arm curling possessively around Keith’s middle as he angles his head down, lips ghosting over Keith’s ear as he whispers, “and you are _mine_.”

Heat of another kind fills Keith and he wishes even more that they were alone.

“I really should have cleaned up. I came straight from the weapons room and I didn’t think about, well— this.” Keith stops, waving his arm around at all of the decorations and biting off the rest of his words. He does not wish to darken Shiro’s mood with his sudden insecurities.

“What is it?” Shiro asks, reading the tension in Keith’s body, despite his attempts to hide it.

Instead of being angry, Keith merely feels relief. Growing up, he’d been forced to hide everything— his dislike of the King, his sympathies for the Galran resistance, and especially his feelings. There had never been room for _feelings_ , only survival. 

Keith had made sure he survived, but the cost had been high.

Some nights, the truth of what his survival cost him kept him up at night— left alone with his thoughts in the dark, as he stares at the way the moonlight looks falling across Shiro’s beautiful face. The memories are easy to push aside with Shiro beside him. He knows Shiro too carries the same weight in his heart— they both have paid a heavy price for their survival. 

The cost never feels hard to bear when he’s looking at Shiro, when he has the knowledge that every single thing he did has led him here, to stand beside Shiro— his comrade in arms, his closest friend, his _betrothed_. Every horrible thing in Keith’s past made him stronger, helped him learn to fight and survive, and it’s those skills that helped keep Shiro alive too.

“Perhaps this will please you,” Shiro offers when Keith does not answer, removing his left arm from where it is hidden behind his back. Clasped carefully in his hand is a crown—a flower crown. It looks especially delicate in Shiro’s large hand as he holds it out for Keith’s inspection. “I made it for you.”

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs, almost afraid to touch it lest he soil it.

“It’s a family tradition. My mother made one for my father on the eve of their marriage. You’ll get your real crown tomorrow, which I promise you, is worth far more than a few petals, but I thought perhaps it might make you smile.”

“This is worth plenty,” Keith murmurs, ghosting his fingers over the delicate purple blossoms. “You know I have no use for jewels.”

Shiro smiles, decidedly careful as he deposits the crown atop Keith’s head. “The asters are for love, the gypsophila is for sincerity and trust and the peonies are to symbolize a happy marriage.”

The crown weighs nothing but Keith feels the weight of it atop his head. Something he must not hide well, because the light in Shiro’s eyes dims. 

“It does not please you?”

Keith exhales, shaking his head and rising onto tiptoes to press a kiss to each of Shiro’s cheeks and then his lips. “I am very pleased. Thank you, Shiro.”

“You do not look it,” Shiro says, brushing the hair off Keith’s forehead.

Keith should’ve known a single platitude would not fool his beloved. Shiro is too smart for that, and knows Keith far too well. 

Shiro crowds into his personal space, enveloping Keith in an embrace that Keith welcomes. His arms are so strong, his body warm and the light scent of exertion lingers on his skin. It’s heady and Keith allows himself a moment to let go despite the fact that they are not alone. 

“I am nervous,” Keith whispers into the side of Shiro’s neck.

The confession is not an easy one for Keith to make, still so used to holding back his own feelings. Still, it does not cost him as much as it might have once. Were it anyone else Keith would have never voiced the words out loud, but he knows that his fears are safe with Shiro. Everything he is—and even that which he is not— is safe with him. 

Shiro pulls back from the embrace, settling his hands on either side of Keith’s face. There is no pity in Shiro’s eyes, nor even surprise. Something settles between them, warm and comforting as Shiro’s thumb stokes over the rise of Keith’s cheek.

“Do you wish to postpone the wedding?” Shiro asks, right hand cascading down the side of Keith’s neck and further down his side until it slips beneath Keith’s tunic—cool metal fingers settling at his side. 

“No,” Keith answers with conviction. There are so many things he feels uncertain of but his devotion to Shiro is not one of them. 

“How May I help?” He asks. 

“I don’t know,” Keith answers, frustrated with himself. He should not be troubling Shiro with this so close to their marriage, it is a time for joy. 

“Stay here,” Shiro murmurs, dropping a kiss to the top of Keith’s head before turning away—his cape spinning as he turns. 

There’s a shift in Shiro’s body language as he strides forward, a subtle but noticeable shift in the way he holds himself. The softness in Shiro, the delicate parts of him that are reserved only for Keith are now hidden away and he moves towards the servants currently hanging swatches of golden fabric above the doorway. The chamberlain straightens, as everyone stops what they’re doing to bow. From the opposite side of the room, it’s impossible for Keith to hear what Shiro says, but the meaning becomes clear when the chamberlain claps his hands and shoos everyone from the room.

Shiro spins around and his entire demeanor softens as the heavy wooden doors shut, leaving them blissfully alone. It’s always been impressive the way Shiro can so easily slip into the roles other’s need him to play, but Keith appreciates more than ever that all of that is stripped away for him. Shiro’s always been good at being what others need him to be, but with Keith is he just Shiro—every facade stripped away.

Whatever insecurities Keith holds, pale in the face of such utter trust and devotion.

“Better?” Shiro asks once he’s close enough, his hand easily finding its way beneath Keith’s tunic once more. This time it doesn’t linger at his hip but slips lower, fingers slipping beneath his trousers to smooth over his hip bone.

“Yes,” Keith breathes, the tension leaving his body as Shiro’s other hand comes round to settle on his lower back.

“I have a wedding gift for you,” Shiro says. “I was going to surprise you tomorrow, but I think perhaps now is a better time.”

“You already gave me a gift,” Keith says, unconsciously reaching up to touch the flower crown.

“That was merely a token of my affection,” Shiro protests, as if it isn't the single sweetest gift Keith’s ever been given.

“Which is all I need,” Keith reminds him. 

“Then you do not wish to see your throne?” Shiro asks, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“My throne,” Keith repeats, trying to follow along. “I am only the King consort, I don’t need—”

“You are not _only_ anything,” Shiro interrupts. “You are to be my husband, my partner and my equal in all things. You are also the future King consort.”

Keith inhales sharply, the emotions he’s been keeping at bay crashing into him. These last months have been the happiest of Keith’s life, finally allowed to act on his devotion and love for Shiro. Yet happiness only does so much to buffer the reality of royal life. Shiro has done his best to shelter Keith from the gossip, but the people know better than to speak ill of Keith or their betrothal in front of the King.

Keith is not a king, and he hears the whispers. The people seem happy enough, especially the children. But the upper echelons of the court are less joyful about a commoner— a _Galran_ commoner— marrying their King. 

If Keith’s learned anything during his time in the King’s guard, it's that those with power do not like anyone who threatens it. As a knight, Keith was invisible to those above his rank. People often spoke of him like he was not there. Keith knows his very existence threatens them, even if no one has dared to say it aloud since Shiro announced their betrothal. Keith has no noble blood, no claim to any throne, and he does not play well by the rules of court. He’s too insolent and rash, he doesn’t play nice if someone doesn’t deserve it. He’s not tactful and patient the way Shiro is, and the court knows it.

“I’m not worthy, Shiro,” he whispers, giving voice to the words without meaning to. 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispers. “You, deserve _everything_.”

“You are so good to me,” Keith says, smoothing his hand up Shiro’s chest and over the delicate golden embroidered crest that rests over his heart. 

“But—” Shiro prompts.

“How do you know there is a but?” Keith asks, pressing his palm against the material and feeling the faint thud of Shiro’s steady heartbeat.

“Because I know you,” Shiro grins.

“You were born to be King,” Keith whispers, jaw trembling as he forces out the words. “What if I was only born to stay in the shadows.”

Shiro is quiet for so long that Keith fears he’s been too honest, but then Shiro is lifting his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to the knuckles. He walks him to the far end of the room to stand directly in front of Shiro’s throne—a magnificent piece of furniture, as ornate and elaborate as a King deserves, adorned in gold.

“Do you know what I see when I look at this throne?” Shiro asks, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of Keith’s hand.

Keith shakes his head, moisture pooling at the corners of his eyes.

“Isolation,” Shiro answers, his voice quiet. “I was raised to know my place, to know my privilege. I knew I would have things that others could not dream of, but this privilege would come with a cost. My parents loved me, and their relationship was one of respect, but there was no love between them. Love and companionship was never in the cards for me. If I was lucky I was taught to expect someone who might share my bed, not my heart. That throne has been a symbol of my loneliness for longer than I care to admit. But not any longer.”

Shiro stops, dropping Keith’s hand to walk beside his throne, tugging the heavy fabric off what Keith now knows to be _his throne._ It is identical to Shiro’s in design and grandeur, sitting there beside his, as a matched pair. There’s no designation between them, nothing that says Keith is a consort only. His throne is equal to Shiro’s in every way, and Keith’s heart clenches so tightly he can barely breathe.

“When my parents died I was alone. When the Galra captured me I was alone. I have been alone for so long, Keith. And then you came and—” Shiro pauses, his jaw trembling. “You have given me more than you will ever know. You saved me, Keith. In every way. You were never just my knight, you were my friend. And now, you are my everything. Nothing in this Kingdom, no gold or jewels or title can compare to your worth.”

“Shiro,” Keith mumbles, openly crying now.

“You are the brightest star in the night sky, the brightest star in _my_ sky,” he whispers, wiping the tears from Keith’s face. “I will spend the rest of my days making this a world that deserves you.”

Keith is not a man to cry. He had not cried when his mother disappeared. He had not cried as he’d held Shiro’s broken body and rode them out of Daizbaal on a stolen horse. Tears, he has always believed, we’re a sign of weakness. 

He doesn’t feel weak now. He feels _strong_. 

Shiro’s love makes him strong. 

“What are you doing?” Keith questions, watching with no small amount of shock, as Shiro drops to one knee. He looks stunning, his hair falling across his face and his shoulders held high as he lowers his head in the briefest of bows before turning his eyes back on Keith. Everything in his demeanor from his gentle gaze to his soft smile, speaks of respect and reverence. 

“I am kneeling before my King.”

Keith wobbles on his feet, the words knocking all the air from his lungs. This is more than he might have ever conceived. He still recalls with painful clarity the moment Zarkon had knocked Shiro to his knees in the center of court in Daizbaal, demanding Shiro kneel to him. In true Shiro fashion, he’d done the opposite— spitting on Zarkon’s glimmering boots and jutting out his chin defiantly as he’d grit out _”I bow to no one, especially you. A true King earns the respect and submission of his people, he does not demand it. You sit on a weak throne, and when you fall-, which you will, it will be glorious.”_

His insolence had cost him much, including his right arm, and a beating that left the entire Kingdom listening to his cries.

There was a glint in Shiro’s eyes as he’d taken Zarkon’s first blow. Not even a flicker of remorse for his words shone through. Keith had known then, that this was a man worthy to rule. He had not thought twice as he slipped through the hidden passageways to find Shiro that night, holed up in the corner of his cell clutching what was left of his arm and trying not to cry. He had not thought twice as he shed his own clothes to make a tourniquet for the broken boy he did not know.

 _”I’ll never kneel for another man_ he’d cried, near delirious with pain as Keith smuggled him out of the castle. And he never had. That boy was just a Prince, and now he is a King. 

And now, that King kneels.

He kneels for Keith.

“My King,” Shiro repeats, reaching for Keith’s hand and kissing it the same way Keith had, the day Shiro had knighted him.

It sends a shiver up Keith’s spine. “ _Shiro_.”

“Many years ago, I was nothing more than a fallen Prince, without my Kingdom or crown and yet you looked at me and saw worth. You pledge yourself to me. Tomorrow, in front of all my Kingdom I will do the same. There is nothing binding in this vow I offer you now, but I offer it freely. I offer you everything I am, heart and soul. Will you have me, Keith?”

It’s such a ludicrous question that Keith hardly knows whether to laugh or cry more. How could he not? How could he want for anything else, when the man who has held his heart since before he even knew he had one, offers him this. There isn’t a universe in existence where Keith’s fate isn’t linked to Shiro’s. 

“Of course, I will. I love you.”

“And I love you,” Shiro murmurs, another kiss pressed to the back of his hand. “Will you let me show you?”

“What do you— _oh_ ,” Keith gasps as Shiro shuffles forward—his pristine white trousers sullied as he shuffled forward on his knees. 

The chamberlain will likely faint when he sees the state of Shiro’s beautiful, custom pre-wedding banquet outfit gone black in the knees. It’s a bit obscene to see the way his gold crown shimmers and the cut of his perfectly tailored new outfit goes taut across his body, contrasted with the sight of him on his knees like this— dirt and soot staining his clothing. 

“You’ll get dirty,” Keith mumbles stupidly, already half hard in his own trousers. 

“I will,” Shiro agrees, very nearly crawling towards Keith. It’s obscene and Keith goes hot all over, at the sight. “I would do a great many things for you. Will you let me do them, Keith?”

Keith breathes in so deeply through his nose that his head spins as he nods, surprised he can stand upright when Shiro’s capable hands begin to undo the lacing on his trousers. He’s confident and focused as he makes quick work of the stupidly complicated things, tugging them down to Keith’s ankles in an impatient tug. 

Shiro rubs his cheek against Keith’s hip several times, a contented little sigh escaping his lips when Keith’s fingers find their way to his nape. Shiro carefully unties the scabbard at his waist, and removes the blade which still hangs there. He does it again twice more—nuzzling into Keith’s stomach before pushing the tunic up to expose his now fully erect cock. There’s no denying his arousal now, his cock hanging long and heavy between his legs and leaking from the tip. 

Without thinking about where they are or the possibility of being caught, Keith finishes the job Shiro started, and yanks his tunic off before kicking off his boots and trousers. It’s only when he’s completely bare that it occurs to him he has stripped naked on the King’s throne. Anyone could walk in and— 

“No one will disturb us,” Shiro tells him as if reading his mind. “Trust me.”

This at least is easy. There is no one in all the lands that Keith trusts more.

“That’s it. My beautiful, Keith,” Shiro praises, hands smoothing over the swell of Keith’s thighs with aching familiarity. His touches aren’t tentative or exploratory. Shiro knows exactly how Keith enjoys being touched—knows his way around every inch of Keith’s body. 

He touches Keith with the confidence of a King—of a man who knows what is his.

And that, Keith thinks, is the truth of it. He is Shiro’s, as much as Shiro is his. They belong to each other in every way that is possible. A union that was forged out of survival has transformed into something beautiful and strong— an unbreakable bond. There’s nothing delicate or fragile about his relationship with Shiro, and while he can not deny the flutter of excitement he feels about being able to wed the man he loves tomorrow, he knows that they need no further proof of their commitment than their words.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Shiro asks, mouthing against Keith’s hipbone—inching closer and closer to his cock with every passing second.

“Yes,” Keith groans, feet splayed wide as he resists the urge to rut forward.

“Then trust me now. No man was ever more fit to rule than you. _My King_ ,” he extols, the pitch of his voice flooding Keith’s body with pleasure.

Before he can respond, Shiro’s got one hand on either side of Keith’s hips and his eyes turned up towards Keith, as he opens his mouth and engulfs the cockhead. Without thinking Keith’s hands fly up to Shiro’s head, knocking his crown sideways as he grabs a fistful of white hair and bucks forward. The hands at his hip press in tighter and if Keith is not mistaken, Shiro is smiling as he takes him deeper. 

For such a magnanimous man, Shiro is greedy during sex— sucking at Keith’s cock and taking him deeper and deeper until the tip hits the back of Shiro’s throat. Even then Shiro doesn’t stop, little puffs of air coming out of his nose as he tries to take all of Keith. It’s no easy feat. Like most Galra, Keith is particularly well endowed, but it’s nothing that stops Shiro from trying as he loosens his jaw to make room with the extra thickness near the base. 

In front of the court Shiro is always the picture of composure and patience, but with Keith he lets go. He is handsy and needy, as he loosens the grips at Keith’s hips and slides his hands lower. His touches are slow and gentle as Shiro’s massive hands roam over the swell of his ass and down to his thighs. It’s a stark contrast to the salacious way Shiro sucks his cock with needy little sounds of pleasure. He’s always such an attentive lover that more than once Keith’s teetered on the edge of passing out from pleasure. 

Shiro tips his face up to Keith—eyes wide and adoring as he pulls back. Keith’s cock falls from Shiro’s mouth with a pop, leaving a string of precome dripping out of Shiro’s mouth. He makes such a pretty picture like this. If anyone in the court could see their King now they’d be shocked to find him on dirty knees, his crown crooked and his hair a mess and his pretty lips swollen and shining with spit and come as he sucks Keith’s cock. But no one will ever see, because Shiro is _his_.

A wave of possessiveness curls around Keith’s heart and he hardly knows what to do with himself. 

It’s not the first time he’s realized how much power he holds over Shiro, but it never fails to leave him in awe, that a man so powerful might choose to relinquish some of that power to Keith. He wants to protect Shiro, to keep him all to himself for the rest of time and show him how loved he is. But Keith knows that’s impossible. The people love Shiro too and he must share his beloved with them, must let Shiro’s radiance shine for more than just himself.

For just this moment though, Keith may be selfish—Keith may have Shiro all to himself.

“You are so beautiful,” Shiro rasps, as if it is Keith and not Shiro who is the most glorious thing ever to exist.

The urge to protest rises, but Keith bites it back. His self control is rewarded as Shiro’s face transforms with surprise and no small amount of pleasure. “Oh, good boy. That’s right. You’re so beautiful. So perfect for me.”

All the blood rushes to Keith’s head and it’s only Shiro’s firm grip at his hips that keeps him upright. He’s never desired anything the way he does Shiro’s praise. 

“Yes, you,” Shiro murmurs, rising onto his knees to lavish kisses across Keith’s abdomen. He pays extra attention to the scars that line his body, as tender with Keith as if he were something precious. “The heavens above must have known I needed an angel and sent you to me. My Keith. My perfect, Keith.”

“Shiro,” Keith chokes out, voice wobbling as he squeezes his eyes shut desperately trying not to cry again. 

“Yes, your Shiro,” he whispers against the flat of Keith’s belly, his cheek pressed against the soft skin. 

For several moments he stays there, his breathing slowing as he strokes his left hand over Keith’s side. Eventually he turns his face, mouthing at Keith’s belly, nipping at the skin as he slowly makes his way back towards Keith’s cock and sucks it into his mouth. There’s nothing slow or gentle about what he does next—hollowing his cheeks and slackening his jaw as he takes Keith so far in, Shiro’s eyes water as Keith cock slips down into the tightness of Shiro’s throat. It takes Keith by such surprise, he can do nothing but let out a cry of pleasure so loud it echoes on the stone walls as he comes.

Normally Keith has more sense than to be so noisy, but Shiro has sucked the sense right out of his cock, and he keeps sucking—massaging Keith’s ass cheeks and gulping down his release.

When Shiro pulls back his lips are red and swollen, Keith’s come dripping down his chin and his chest is heaving. He’s the picture of debauchery on his knees, hands now folded in his lap and his trousers substantially tented with his arousal.

“You’re still hard,” Keith whispers, wiping the come off Shiro’s jaw with his thumb and then pressing it back into Shiro’s mouth, possessiveness flaring within him once more at the way Shiro hums his agreement as he eagerly sucks it off.

Once his thumb is clean, Keith removes it, his cock twitching with renewed interest at the way Shiro’s mouth falls open. With more grace that should be possible on one’s knees, Shiro crawls forward urging Keith backward. It’s not until the back of Keith’s knees hit the throne, that he realizes what Shiro’s intentions might be.

“Tomorrow you will sit here as my husband, as the crowned King consort,” Shiro says, and the roughness in his voice from having Keith’s cock down his throat makes it very hard for Keith to concentrate on the actual words he is speaking.

“Yes.”

“You will not think about the eyes on you, or doubt your worth. Do you know why?”

Keith shakes his head as Shiro gently presses him back until Keith’s bare ass hits the throne.

“Because, you will think of me,” Shiro says in a tone that leaves no room for questions. He rises then to his full glory, standing tall and proud before Keith with his blackened knees.

“Shiro,” Keith quivers.

“You will think of me every time you sit here,” Shiro says—voice low and scratchy—as he reaches up to undo the clasp on his cape which falls to the floor in a flutter. He toes off his boots next, moving to them to the side as he undresses. His tunic goes after, each lace undone with meticulous care—thick fingers managing to undo delicate little laces with more dexterity than should be possible.

By the time Shiro’s left standing before him in nothing but his trousers, Keith’s cock is already half hard again. He’s never been sure if it’s a Keith thing or Galra thing or merely a side effect of having the most gorgeous lover in all the world, but Keith’s refractory period is unparalleled. 

“Are you watching?” Shiro asks.

They both know the answer but it feels heady and bold to give it voice. “I’m watching.”

“Good,” he says, long fingers slipping through the laces tied snugly above his crotch. 

It’s a blessing and a curse that Shiro enjoys such tight and elaborate clothing. It takes twice as long for him to undress as Keith, but the sight of him undoing every bit of lacing is a treat. Usually Keith undresses him, but there’s something erotic about watching Shiro shed all his clothing for Keith.

Shiro bends down to retrieve something from a hidden pocket. When he ‘s done he returns to Keith with a small vial of oil clutched in his hand and Keith is fully hard now.

“You are beautiful,” Keith whispers, forgetting he’s supposed to be nervous as he leans back in the throne.

“What I am is yours,” Shiro tells him, pressing the vial of oil into Keith’s hands as he gets a knee on the edge of the throne. Time stands still as Keith wraps his fingers around the tiny vial—the magic within making his fingers tingle—as Shiro oh so slowly climbs into Keith’s lap. 

It’s nothing short of a revelation to be caged in by Shiro—sitting atop a throne of velvet and gold as Shiro kneels over him. The mid afternoon sun has begun to set, casting its light through the stained glass windows in such a way that the prisms of light now dance across Shiro’s bare flesh, painting him in a sea of rainbows. Even his crown glimmers with radiance—shades of red and blue reflecting off the gold. 

It makes Shiro look almost otherworldly— like an angel plucked straight out of heaven. 

“Show me, Keith,” he urges—the lines of his body taut with his desire. “Show me just how worthy you are of me.”

The words crash over Keith and he surges up, tugging Shiro down into a bruising kiss. Shiro always knows what to say to get Keith out of his head, to calm him down or rile him up. Shiro likes to tell people that Keith saved him, but the truth is Shiro saved Keith too. 

The days before Shiro were dark and lonely, and Keith could hardly conceive of a future like this; bright and full of happiness. Shiro spoils him, not just in gold and riches but in affection, always easy with his touches and his praise. 

“Mine,” Keith moans against Shiro’s lips and uncorking the vial with one hand. 

“Yes, Keith. Yours.”

Keith grunts out a breath, pulling out of the kiss only long enough to tip a generous amount of the thick oil onto his hands. It warms as he runs his fingers together—an oil infused with magic from the healers, meant for muscle aches and residual phantom limb pain but which Shiro takes great pleasure in finding new uses for. 

“Touch me, Keith. Show me how a King will touch his husband.”

He wheezes, the words making Keith feel nearly crazy with desire. It is far too easy to doubt himself and his worth, unless it involves Shiro. Perhaps his beloved is manipulating him just a little bit, playing on Keith’s desire to reaffirm how well he can take care of Shiro—but it’s mutually beneficial. It allows Keith the chance to touch and worship and claim, and it allows Shiro a moment to feel desired for nothing more than who he is inside. 

Keith knows he is good for Shiro—knows they are good for each other—but sometimes it feels good to prove it. 

“You will cry my name,” Keith tells him as his hand slips around to Shiro’s backside. It’s tempting to splay his hands over each of Shiro’s cheeks, to feel the play of flesh beneath his fingers. But now is not the time for teasing, it is a time for action. 

Shiro merely groans, gripping the spires atop the throne and spreading his legs wide as Keith’s oiled finger slips into the crease. Much as Keith loves Shiro’s mouth, he loves this too— loves the moment the ability to be eloquent slips away from him. 

“That’s it, Shiro, look at you,” he murmurs, the first finger slipping in without resistance. 

Shiro’s descent into incoherence is swift after that. All it takes is Keith expertly opening him up. Slick fingers stretch Shiro wide, until Shiro’s all but riding Keith’s hand and bucking his ass into the air.

“You’re such a noisy boy,” Keith huffs, delighting in the flush of pink that spreads down Shiro’s neck. 

“I like how you make me feel,” Shiro exhales, arching his back and pressing his ass back to take Keith’s fingers in deeper. 

“I know you do,” Keith grins. “The entire kingdom knows.”

After the first month of sharing a bed with Shiro, Keith gave up trying to quiet him, after the third incident of the guards bursting in thinking there was an attack. The servants know better than to come in when they hear the King’s cries of ecstasy now. 

“Yes,” Shiro moans, so unabashed in his pleasure as he clenches his muscles around Keith’s fingers and pants. “Everyone knows. They look at us and they know you are my everything. Everyone will watch us tomorrow and know what we did on this throne. They will know that it is you, and you alone that please me.”

The words wrap around Keith’s heart, sending pleasure directly to the most primal part of his brain that longs to claim the King as his and his alone. Perhaps Keith should feel embarrassed that everyone outside this room can hear them, that they all know exactly what is happening behind closed doors. But all he feels is pride, that it is he and he alone who can please the King.

“Do you enjoy that they all know you are mine?” Keith asks, arching his neck back to mouth along Shiro’s collarbone, sucking a mark into the pale skin.

Shiro opens his mouth to answer at the exact moment that Keith’s fingers stroke over the spot inside his body that makes him scream, and scream he does—his entire body trembling above Keith as Keith strokes over the spot again.

“Noisy, noisy boy,” Keith repeats, kissing his way across Shiro’s chest.

“ _Keith_.”

“Yes, say my name,” Keith urges, growing bolder. 

“Keith,” Shiro cries, rocking his back into Keith’s fingers clearly desperate for more.

When Keith withdraws his fingers he lets out a needy whine, hands falling down from the back of the throne as he collapses into Keith’s lap.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Keith tells him, retrieving the vial from the seat and tipping the rest of the oil into his palm before slathering it over his own erect cock.

“Do it,” Shiro urges. “Show me what kind of King you are.”

Thoughts fade away as Keith’s left hand flies out to wrap around the back of Shiro’s neck, pulling him in for a searing kiss that turns sloppy and needy as he manhandles Shiro back onto his cock. If Keith thought Shiro was noisy before, it’s nothing to the sound he makes as he sinks down onto Keith’s cock—a sound so rich with pleasure. The sounds of his cries echoing through the room is enough to send chills down his spine.

“Mine,” Keith gasps, hands settling onto Shiro’s hips as Shiro rises and falls.

“Yours. My King,” Shiro agrees, his voice cracking as he sits himself on Keith’s cock taking him so far in that Keith sees stars.

“You were born for this,” Shiro whispers.

It’s impossible to argue with Shiro’s words. He’s too honest, too earnest, and conviction drips from his every word. Keith does not always see himself the way Shiro does, but he wants to.

“Shiro.”

“Say it,” Shiro urges, rising up then falling back down as he settles into a slow and sensual rhythm of fucking himself on Keith’s cock. His voice is so gentle, so kind it almost hurts. He loves Keith. He loves Keith so much, and he’s showing it in every way he knows how.

“I was born for this,” Keith all but sobs, surprised at how powerful it feels to say it out loud.

“Again,” Shiro urges, every muscle in his body trembling as he continues to writhe on Keith’s cock.

“I was born to rule,” Keith cries, louder this time. The words echo off the castle walls, an inexplicable sense of rightness settling on Keith’s chest.

He was born for this.

He is worthy to be Shiro’s.

He is worthy to be King.

Anything else Keith might say dies on his lips when the light in the room shifts, sending the reflections from the stained glass windows directly down upon them. Keith marvels at the way the colors look, playing on Shiro’s skin as he throws his head back and moans, his crown slipping sideways and his beautiful white hair painted in rainbows. He marvels at the way the light dances between their bodies as they move together.

“Look at you,” Shiro gasps, such tenderness in his eyes as he strokes the back of his knuckles down the side of Keith’s face.

Sitting on the throne, Keith has never felt more beauty, more loved— more worthy.

“You may look, _my King_ ,” Keith whispers, echoing the sentiment back. He uses Shiro now, it’s almost always Shiro. But Keith’s learned a few well placed _my King_ , can set Shiro’s heart racing. Even still, he’s surprised at the way Shiro’s entire body stutters at the honorific. 

This time it’s Shiro who crashes his lips down in a sloppy kiss, moving his hands to Keith’s hair and tipping the flower crown off the side. Neither of them reach for it, too enamored with each other.

“ _My King_ ,” Keith repeats between kisses, and is rewarded when Shiro lets out a moan so low and deep Keith feels the vibrations of it in his chest. It’s all the warning Keith gets before Shiro ruts forward just enough that his cock rubs up against Keith’s belly, which is apparently enough friction to send him spiraling over the edge.

Shiro tips his head back and moans, a sound so wanton and deep it’s burned into Keith’s skin. Overcome by the sight of Shiro, Keith comes as well, arching up and filling Shiro with his own release.

Shiro writhes, collapsing against Keith and crushing him beneath his weight. It is glorious.

“Am I too heavy?” Shiro mumbles, slurring his words the same way he had, when he’d had too much wine last week. The idea that Keith’s driven him to such a level floods him with pride and pleasure, in equal measure.

“No, you are perfect,” Keith tells him, dropping a kiss to Shiro’s shoulder and stroking his fingers up and down Shiro’s spine.

Shiro hums, nuzzling into Keith’s neck and pressing tiny open mouth kisses to the hollow of his throat. If Shiro before sex is tactile, it is nothing compared to after, where he seeks a level of physical reassurance that Keith is always more than happy to provide.

“So,” Shiro reverently whispers, his voice even more raw and scratchy now from the noises he made and Keith’s cock. “What do you think of your throne.”

“I think it needs to be cleaned,” Keith answers.

It earns him a hearty laugh from Shiro, whose amusement rings throughout the room as beautiful and bright as the church bells. Keith laughs as well, pressing a kiss to the side of Shiro’s head as he continues to stroke lazy circles across Shiro’s back.

Tomorrow Keith will sit here, not Shiro’s betrothed, but as King consort.

Tomorrow the eyes of the entire Kingdom will be on Keith, but he is no longer so afraid.

For tomorrow, the only person he will have eyes for is his King.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Shieth with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813)
> 
> This fic also has some beautiful art [here.](https://twitter.com/FlippinPancake2/status/1335049587179069441)


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